On and On
by a tattered rose
Summary: PostEp to "Depraved Heart." There are days that seem never to end, and this had been one of them. But Gillian can't go home quite yet.


Disclaimer: I own no part of "Lie to Me." I make no profit.

Spoilers for "Life is Priceless" (1x08).

A/N: I'm posting this rough. Which I oughtn't do but this episode hit me hard, and despite all the other fics I've been stuck on, this scene begged me to write it because I needed to read it. And I figure other fans might want to as well. So substance over form, for once.

--

There are days that seem never to end, and this had been one of them.

Her own case had not been easy or pretty. Enough for her to handle, even without Loker. A part of her wished now she had sent him off at the first sign of trouble but she'd needed his help and with Cal using everyone else she wasn't likely to get any other. And she'd trusted him to do his job. Even now she wasn't sure he hadn't. He had shown no outward signs of deception when he said he had not gone behind her back, and those were the rules they played by. Had to play by.

The case and Loker. More than enough for the day. But Cal on a mission absorbed every bit of their available resources, and Gillian had been fielding calls all day: from perspective clients, follow up queries, and what felt like a rash of secretaries inquiring why the Mayor had been stood up.

Not his mother. No, she wasn't. But someone ought to tell the secretaries of the city that. Even his own had called her three times. Unable to find Dr. Lightman or afraid to confront him, Dr. Foster was the answer.

It had been a hard day, then a long evening of paperwork and administration. Hers was the only light still burning on the floor and all she wanted to do was order food in and let what was left of the day pass without her as she soaked in a well-deserved scented bath until her fingers and toes were prunes and all the tension had dissolved with the bubbles.

But this was one of those days which seem never to end and there was one more worry she couldn't rid herself of. Cal would kill her if he found out what she was doing, but sometimes there's no other way.

Gillian sighed to herself, self-comforting as her computer shut down and her cell phone connected the call.

"Hello?"

"Hi, Emily? It's Gillian Foster."

"Oh. Hi Gillian."

She could hear the uncertainty in the girls voice, unused to fielding calls from her father's coworkers. "I'm sorry. I'm not calling too late am I? I know it's a school night."

"No, it's fine." There was a pause, a rustle of movement. Emily would be shifting positions to steady herself. "I don't have to go to bed until 11."

"It's about your dad. He's fine. I just..." Gillian was beginning to feel foolish. Calling a man's teenage daughter to... what? Check up on him? "He had a hard case today and I wanted to-"

"Do you know?"

"Know what?"

"About- Why he has a hard time with suicides. Do you know?"

"I do. Emily, I-"

"He told me. Tonight. He showed me the video. And told me about my grandma – his mom." Emily's voice grew stronger as she talked and in those moments Gillian felt her perception of the girl shift. From the child she had known to the woman she knew Emily was becoming.

"Oh. Em, I'm so sorry. It's not an easy thing to hear."

The was a pause on the line. Gillian heart went out to her – Cal had told her when a classmate of Emily's had committed suicide. In theory she was well equipped to offer help but she had no real role here. She was not Emily's therapist, not really a friend or even an aunt-like figure to reach out and offer comfort.

"My dad's still up. Do you want to talk to him?"

"No. I don't think-"_ That he needs me._ He had pushed her away, but if he talked to Emily, told her... Maybe he was fine, after all. "I just wanted to make sure he was alright."

"Could you come over? I think he needs to see you. He wouldn't ever say it, but he does."

"No, I don't think he wants to talk to me right now."

"Please? You can say it's all my fault. That I asked you to come. That I called you."

It was easier, in some ways, to say yes, she would be right over. She had wanted to all along.

-

Twenty minutes later she was pulling up in front of his house. The lights were out downstairs, unfriendly and unwelcoming but a window upstairs shone bright and at this Emily appeared, briefly, to wave down at her as she approached the front door. Gillian waved back, but couldn't muster a smile. It was one thing to talk when they were at work, but there were lines they rarely crossed and this was his home and their home lives were their own.

There was silence after she rang the bell, then a hoarse shout from somewhere deep within and an answering call in Emily's voice: "No, I'm not. Probably for you, go answer it." Then silence, and there was still time to flee and pick up food and run a-

"You. What're you doing here?"

The door had opened abruptly and Cal was before her. The anger he had shone earlier was still absent, replaced by a flat emptiness he had displayed the last time she'd seen spoken with him.

Instead of answering she searched his face. His posture. He wasn't a tall man. Not large. But he made himself appear so with his loose-limbed stride, the intensity of his expression. Even his slouch – which might appear non-threatening – really signaled a man who was in control, owned the space he was in and bent it to his will.

None of that shew now. He was still, face blank, the slump of his shoulders indicating defeat rather than disregard.

"Well?"

"What are you doing, Cal?"

It wasn't a question she had prepared, rather one that had sprung out. He reacted though, as if she had stumbled upon a secret. Guilt. But at her, not away. That was interesting. What was he thinking of?

He was watching her, not moving. One arm still held the door open, his body blocking the way. Their eyes fixed on each other in the silence waiting for someone to tell them what was going on.

Until another voice broke in. Emily, appearing at the top of the staircase and who had clearly been listening.

"Hi Gillian. Do you want some food?"

At his daughter's voice Cal had turned quickly, robotically. Jabbed upwards with one finger as emphatically as his command: "You. Back upstairs."

Emily turned automatically, but glanced back at Gillian with knowing look and grateful voice. "I got Thai earlier. There's a lot."

Both adults watched her until the click of a door left them in relative privacy once more. This time, when Cal turned he stepped back, less an invite to enter than a refusal to bar the way. She took it, and found herself standing on unfamiliar ground with her... partner... at eye level only a step away.

Gillian knew people. She knew minds, knew emotions, knew how to pull back and stay calm and when to let someone be. She could be professional. But it had been a long day. Hard weeks. And maybe it was because she had no one else to turn to or her patience was run out or because Emily had asked her to come and now she was here- but she knew before she started speaking that she was going to push Cal until he broke.

Enough of her reason was left to hope that it wouldn't break them.

"Cal."

At least he wasn't blank. A hardness was creeping into his eyes. He never did like being confronted. Not really. She waited, letting his emotions solidify against her as his his head nodded in aggression ever so slightly. Something he had taught her to notice.

"You don't want to talk about it? That's fine. But are you going to run everyone ragged every time someone commits suicide? Force our entire staff to drop everything?"

There was a muscle twitching in his jaw. "_MY_ staff. Not ours. They do what I bloody well tell them to do."

"And yet I'm the one getting the phone calls. Making excuses for you to the Mayor's secretary about where you were-"

"-I didn't ask you to. It's my group, I'll take care of it."

It felt good to be angry. It wasn't mature and she couldn't respect herself for it but it felt good.

He had stepped towards her. She had stepped towards him. It was more of a mutual confrontational artifact that they were both closer now than when they began but what was interesting her now was that they were standing. Standing and arguing and not across the room. This wasn't how they ever fought, or how they shared. She might but Cal – Cal was always sitting. In control. Standing he was out of control, and out of control was exactly where she wanted him to be.

"Yes you did Cal. When you asked me to work with you. It might not be my name on the signs, but when you drop the ball it's me everyone comes to-"

"So don't do it. I've secretaries for that. Maybe then you'd have time to do your job and answer your damn phone when I need you to-"

"I had my own case. I came back when I could but I can't drop everything and leave in the middle of interviews just because you didn't call me earlier."

His nostrils were flaring, but the anger in his eyes was fading. "You're right. Shouldn't have called you at all. I don't need you." He was deflating again, only this time a sadness remained in his eyes. "Why are you even here?"

Her own anger faded. She's vented her frustration, all that had to do with Cal, at any rate. "I was worried about you. I am. Worried about you."

"Don't be. Go home. I'm fantastic."

He managed a smile but It was there. The third time that day he'd said that word and it sounded the same at heart. A lie. Transparent deflection.

"You're not."

"What?"

She was so tired. Emotionally exhausted near the end of the day that would not end. Not the time for a therapy session but this wasn't therapy, this was... She didn't even know if they were friends. Not really. They were colleagues, they told each other things, but that was the office and this wasn't. And she didn't know if they were friends. Not really.

She searched his eyes. He looked sad, defeated, empty, tired. He wasn't giving her anything but he was still standing there and their job was all about finding the right questions so the answers mean something. And as she stared at him she found a right question: was he her friend? She hoped so. She considered him one. And there came a point when friendship was all about faith and the trust you were willing to put into it. Not black and white, never quite_ certain._ But it was the grey's that made it worthwhile.

"The pain, the guilt – it never goes away." She took a step even closer, holding his forearms to keep him still, keep him listening to her. "I've never told you- I've never told anyone, but my father, when I was a child and he was drinking he hid bottles of vodka in my room."

Signs of life now, his eyes were softening but compassion wasn't what she was after and she shook her head slightly even as the memories clogged in her throat. "Because sometimes my mom would throw everything out, so he couldn't drink. She'd hide his wallet and the car keys and make him promise he'd quit. And he would, for a week, or even a month and it would be great. It would." She glanced away for a second, but forced her eyes back to his." And then one night he'd wait until she went to bed and he'd come into my room and get the bottle from my toy box. 'Gilly' he'd say, every time 'Gilly, you're daddy's good little girl. This is our secret isn't it, never tell.' And I never told her. But those nights..."

"Hey. It's not your fault." He wasn't touching her but the muscles in his forearms twitched under her fingertips and she felt as though he was holding her.

"But it is." She knew her voice was shaking. Shaking from the truth. And truth is a beautiful thing but she hoped she could hold it together before she fell apart in front of him. It wasn't like she hadn't had enough time to process it, to deal. But no matter how many times she remembered, she'd only ever said it a few times and saying it was always so very different. "It isn't, but it is. I let him hide them there, I never threw them out. I never told my mom and I let him take them."

"Gillian, you were a child-" His fingertips had found their way to her waist, tugging at the material of her shirt.

"And there was no way you could have known, Cal. She had doctors. Professionals. With years of experience and training. And if you get to feel guilty so do I. You can't take that from me. I knew. I knew what he was doing, I knew I should stop him. I was there. I knew. I didn't do anything."

She was holding herself steady on her feet. Firm. She would be strong, even if was through sheer force of will. She hadn't done anything. Not then. But maybe she could do something now. Maybe she was. Or she could try.

Sudden continuous pressure on her sides forced her to release Cal and swipe at her eyes. White. She had been staring at his shirt buttons, for how long she wasn't sure. She was still gathering herself to find his eyes when he startled her attention.

Very quiet, a whisper. "Why didn't you?"

Her eyes flicked up immediately at the sound. They both knew the answer, but she gave it to him because he needed to hear it from her. "Because I was daddy's good little girl." And so she said it, even though she couldn't say it without two tears falling.

She wasn't sure what she was expecting, knew there was no comfort to be had and she was there to comfort but it _was_ comforting, somehow, when he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close against his chest.

They stood that way, in his hall. Cal's heart beating against her, and her chin still working slightly against his shoulder.

And then he spoke. A whisper across her ear: "My mum killed herself."

"I know, Cal. I know."


End file.
